


Jubilate

by aesc, Siria



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, F/M, Pregnant Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-01
Updated: 2010-03-01
Packaged: 2017-10-07 15:26:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/66460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aesc/pseuds/aesc, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siria/pseuds/Siria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Idly, Meredith wonders if John knows about a pregnant woman's hormones, and their complex interactions with said pregnant woman's sex drive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jubilate

**Author's Note:**

> Another out-take from the 'verse Aitch and I have been noodling in for a while. :D For the purposes of this fic, all you need to know is that Meredith's always been female, she's a linguist, and she and John are in an established relationship.

Idly, Meredith wonders if John knows about a pregnant woman's hormones, and their complex interactions with said pregnant woman's sex drive. She wonders if she should tell him, or if she should let it be a surprise.

Surprise, she decides after a moment's deliberation—and an afternoon spent wrestling with the Athosian ablative in a particularly difficult historical text only adds to her anticipation, makes it all the sweeter when she stretches herself out naked on their bed in the late evening light and waits for him. Meredith spends those long minutes exploring herself, something she hasn't done since the initial euphoria of discovery, the first days after Jennifer had beamed at her and told her she was expecting. She wonders anew over the slowly growing curve of her stomach, how the swell of it still hardly shows even though Meredith would swear against all medical possibility that she can already feel movement inside of her; ponders how her nipples have turned darker, how the barest brush of her fingers over them is enough to draw a gasp from her now.

She wonders how sensitive they'll be a couple of months for now; what it will feel like for John to suck at them, lick them, rub his stubbled cheek against them like he usually does. Will it feel better, worse? More intense or just different? She pinches one nipple between experimenting fingers and gasps, squeezing her thighs tightly together at the sweet ache that provokes.

Meredith wants John. She wants his big hand pressed against her, his palm working her clit while he plays with her breasts; she wants rough skin and hair against her, the agreeable power of him when she begs him to get his fingers in her, filling her in a way that makes her own small hands seem inadequate now, pulling her higher and higher but always somehow falling short.

She considers working herself on her own fingers, but decides she'd rather wait for John. Still playing with her nipples, she reaches up to the bedside table and snags her earpiece. He's just finishing up some requisition forms before the _Daedalus_ arrives, he tells her, and Meredith asks him to swing by their quarters with some stout tea for her when she's finished. "Uh huh," he says, unsuspecting and absently fond, and Mer runs a hand down her stomach and smiles.

This type of stout tea is one of Teyla's miracles, something the Athosians drink to help with nausea of all stripes and something that is, by now, indelibly associated with Mer's displays of antemeridian barfing and the seasick feeling that lingers throughout the day. Meredith traces an idle nail over a stomach that has decided to cooperate for once, that flickers now only with excitement; she watches the door, listening through it for John's quick, steady footsteps.

She factors in John's mixture of procrastination and guilt when it comes to the paperwork—shoving the last part of the stack into the outbox only half done, Meredith guesses, before sighing and retrieving the top three of the bundle; rewriting those with greater care before leaving it all to Lorne's tender and much more conscientious mercies. Transporter to the mess, a couple of minutes small talk with whoever's on duty there; transporter back to their sector of the city, down the hallway, and there it is, the heavy clomp of combat boots, the dull hiss of their door opening and—"Jesus fuck!"—the sound of a tea cup falling to the floor.

Meredith can't help the way she laughs at the look on his face—beautiful and completely pole-axed. In a romance novel or an action movie, the hero wouldn't stand there with tea splattered on his combat boots, staring at the heroine with amazement-confusion-hunger; but while John is the dashing hero to half of Pegasus, he's _John_ to her, her husband, capable of incredible bouts of awkwardness at moments and now he's standing there, frozen and confused and clearly aroused.

"You're going back for more later," she tells him, stroking a hand over the fine-grained skin of her belly.

"Uh. Okay?" John says intelligently, his eyes tracking the movement of her hand, which goes lower and lower on each stroke.

"John?"

"Uh huh?"

Meredith rolls her eyes. _Men_. "Bed."

"Okay."

She sighs when he settles next to her, still smelling like a long day and like ocean salt; John's hand settles heavy and substantial on her belly, stilling her own. There's something exciting about lying naked underneath him while he's fully dressed, while the rest of the city is still active and working outside their door, and Meredith arches slightly. John looks down briefly at his hand before looking at her, in her, eyes dark and intent and becoming more so by the second as he drinks her in.

Meredith runs her hand up his thigh to cup his swiftly hardening cock through his BDUs. "I want you to fuck me," she says, smiling at the way his tongue darts out to wet his lower lip and his eyes dilate. "I want you inside me."

John shudders hard against her hand before flicking a quick glance along her body, a question clear in the sudden tension of his shoulder and the furrowing of his brow—a marked hesitation despite how much Meredith knows he wants her. She shifts, displaying the newly generous curve of her breasts, the faint marks where she's pinched and rubbed herself. "It's okay," she tells him, with warmth pooling low in her belly, between her legs at the darkening, sharpening of his eyes. "I _swear_, it's okay... I just, god, I want you, John."

"Don't—don't let me hurt you," he says, one tentative hand reaching out to cup her breast, his fingers twitching slightly when she moans at his touch.

"I will hurt _you_ if you don't fuck me already," Meredith replies, hips starting to rock a little already just from that one point of contact—she's wet and she's aching for him, wants to feel him slide inside her, hard and thick, a constant point for her to work herself against.  
His answer is to trace a hand down her belly, smoothing circles into her skin, his fingers brushing the crisp curls between her legs. She moans, shifting into his touch and he smiles, the smile that makes her electric with want, with knowing how good he can make her feel. "You're so wet already," he murmurs, voice whiskey-hot-rough as he strokes her, one finger, two hooking abruptly inside her so Meredith twists against him, and he bends, still clothed, to suckle her breast, shock of his tongue enough to make her go tight around the fingers in her.

"I was, I was—" She throws her head back and pants a little, works to regain some semblance of thought that's not entirely focused on the feel of his fingers, big and blunt and curling gently inside her. "Touched myself, thought of you," she manages to gasp before she tangles her fingers in John's hair, encourages him to suck harder and arches up into his mouth.

He gathers her against him with one arm under her shoulders; his mouth is slick, wet fire on her breast, he gathers her against him with one arm under her shoulders, his mouth slick, wet fire on her breast, the worry of teeth although he's careful, and his fingers inside her press her on, three now, filling her and she's so sensitive now she feels the scrape of knuckle, the rough drag of him laid out along her, nearly, so nearly perfect, and through her incoherence she begs him for more, "I need you in me," her words shaking and honest, desperate for him.

"Okay," John says, "okay, okay," his breath hot on her flesh, his mouth hot on her skin, all of her burning for him even before he stands to strip off his shirt, to kick off his boots; before he stoops to shimmy out of his BDUs and boxers, to strip off his socks; and when he lowers himself onto her, when he pushes inside her with a grunt and a bite of his lower lip, Meredith feels lit up, celestial, as if she's glowing like the fire that lives at the heart of a ZPM.

She closes herself tightly around him, holding him there even though he shakes, wanting to move; Meredith tells him how perfect he is, how he fills her, so hard, stretching her, fit so perfectly against her and in her, and the sound John makes says he's almost gone, hard, desperate muscle stretched out all along her body reduced to, "Mer, fuck, _please_."

She shudders, fighting the way her eyes try to roll back in her head at the perfection of it, the way it makes her feel that she was made for this, for the pleasure of how she fits around him. She slips a hand between their bodies, between where his flat, hairy stomach presses against the new-found curves of hers, and strokes her fingertips where they're joined, his hard cock rocking into her in almost imperceptible movements. "So good," she croons at him, "So good," throwing her head back and delighting in the sensation as Meredith relaxes enough to let him move inside her fully, "D'you know how good it feels to have you stretch me open?"

John shakes his head, pupils so wide and black that there's little more than the slimmest ring of hazel-green around them, and Meredith doesn't know if he can even understand her as he starts to move in earnest. "It's perfect," she murmurs anyway, answering him with the press of her hips, the offering of her breast; he licks at her but doesn't look away, staring at her face as though to catalogue it again. "It's flying," she adds, the closest she thinks she might be able to come to pure joy for him, and he surges into her, mouth fierce and beautiful on hers, the thrust of him inside her overwhelming.

She wraps her arms around him; exults in it, there's no better word for it, lines of Ancient poetry skittering disjointed through her brain, _jubilate, jubilate_, while she kisses him and kisses him and he works her hard and fast and overwhelming. John's around her, in her, the hard and soft flesh of him, the scent of his sweat and the salt taste of him, the particular quality of the sounds he makes at the back of his throat. His face, seen close, is flawed, beautiful.

Meredith comes, filled up by him, his hand bracing her hip to hold her open to him and orgasm catches her breath, strips her of it, of everything except him deep inside her and everything that's _him_, throb of his body pulsing along with hers, and his name, _John_, on her lips.

He fucks her through it, kisses her though her teeth are chattering with the force of it and tangles his fingers in the sweat-tangled mass of her hair. "John, John," she pants, running her palms the long, fluid length of his back, and what she means is this: that she never thought she could love someone so much that her breath would catch with it, that she never thought she could be so grateful without resentment. "Please," he pants into the curve of her neck, sounding as stunned as if he'd understood her, and Meredith clenches hard around him to make him come.

John gives himself up to her, utterly open in that one incandescent heartbeat, coming with shaking breath and deep, bright heat, thrusting into her with his shoulders, back, tense under her hands. His muscles tremor under her fingertips, his breath comes hot and fast against her neck—and Meredith buries her face in his hair and wishes for a language complex enough to express what he means to her, to explain what it does to her heart to feel John come and come and come back down to her.


End file.
